


Five Lives and One Eternity

by Interrobang



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Complicated Relationships, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, M/M, Old Jesse McCree, Temporary Character Death, Young Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang/pseuds/Interrobang
Summary: The first time Hanzo and Jesse fell in love it was simple. Every other time? Well, we'll just say it was complicated. A reincarnation AU in which Hanzo lives long enough to see Jesse be born (and die) many times over.





	1. The First Life; The Next Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably gonna be a ride, and I expect it to roll p fast. There's more to this first chapter, but I felt like splitting it here. :3c I'll post it in a couple days. Thanks for the patience y'all've had with me while I worked on this and went to school and worked full-time! I should have much more time on my hands to write this summer. If you follow Tender Tinder In Need Of A Match that'll be updating in a couple weeks.

The first time Hanzo and Jesse fell in love it was simple. The moment their eyes met for the first time, Jesse knew that Hanzo was it for him. And Hanzo? Well, every second he spent staring at the new love of his life was one in which his heart cleaved itself open to make room for the most beautiful man he’d ever met. He would have taken on every burden, every obstacle, to be with his love.

It just so happened that the two of them would need that resolution in the future. For though Jesse was-- in that particular life-- madly in love with Hanzo, Jesse would have many lives. Most of them would be short, and most of them would be hard, and he knew this, and he wept for the day he would leave Hanzo to be reborn.

Jesse was a phoenix. Time as a linear, contained mechanism meant very little to him. He was dimly aware that most mortals had a single life span, and that though they often stretched very long, when a mortal died, that was it. They were snuffed out like a candle in a thunderstorm: overwhelmed and overshadowed by the chaos of the universe. Every mortal life was finite, with a definite beginning and a conclusive end.

But then there was Jesse. Jesse had been born with his regenerative abilities, and when they failed, he knew he would at least have the security of a full reformation. He wasn’t quite sure when he was born the first time, but he’d been born many times since. It wasn’t often he was made to be aware of his cycling life, but when it was, it was usually through vague dreams or memories that waited on the edges of his awareness like a forgotten word on the tip of the tongue. 

Hanzo knew this. And was willing, at first, to accept that Jesse would one day move on. Hanzo was himself very long-lived, being of the draconic race, and knew that his life would be very long indeed. But he only had the  _ one  _ life. He wanted to devote it to Jesse. And Jesse-- Jesse wanted to devote his whole life, however long he had, to Hanzo. This fact made Hanzo’s young heart swell. Their lives would overlap for the briefest of times, and then, when Jesse was finished with this form, he would move on to the next, and Hanzo would greet him again. It was all very romantic.

Except it never did work out like that. Rather than overlapping circles, Hanzo and Jesse’s relationship-- or  _ relationships _ , depending on who you asked-- were like a very complex machine made of many interlocking gears. Some turned here, some turned there, but they were all related and all affected each other. When Hanzo greeted a young Jesse McCree at the start of his second life, he was given a grave shock.

Jesse did not remember him. Not the life they’d carefully built together, not growing old together, not even that last sweet moment on his deathbed when Hanzo had professed a secret oath to him. Not a single speck of sentimentality remained in the phoenix in regards to his previous life.

His first words, when Hanzo found him in a market square in his next life, were precisely this:

“Watch it, asshole!”

\--

Hanzo had only run into him by chance. Hanzo had been in the market square looking for fabric-- something to replace the his now out-of-date clothes. He still looked fairly young, though it had been a couple decades since Jesse’s passing. Often this fact made him morose. He had very little to go on in regards to his own lifespan, but was proving to age very slowly. He’d guess that he looked around 28 or so now, though he felt much older. He wished that he had more to go on. As far as he knew, he was the only dragon left.

So when he’d bumped into the youth blocking his path, it had been with a certain kind of self-righteous attitude about showing one’s elders deference. He hadn’t taken into account the unsavory part of town he was shopping in, or the conspicuous crowds of young men gathered around certain market stalls. He’d just wanted to shop-- and instead he’d sparked one of the shortest fuses in the box. 

“Sorry,” Hanzo said absentmindedly-- then he stopped, his jack slackening. It was-- it was  _ Jesse.  _ “Wait. No. I’m not sorry. Jesse, it’s-- it’s  _ me _ .” He grabbed Jesse’s shirt, pulling him close, smothering him in an embrace that Jesse thrashed away from.

The next thing Hanzo knew he was bleeding from his nose and sprawled on the dirt road. 

“What the fuck?You think that was fucking  _ funny?”  _ Jesse spat. He kicked Hanzo in the ribs for good measure. “I don’t fuckin’ know you, but you better know who you’re messin’ with. You stay outta my goddamn line of sight next time or you’ll be walking out with a hole in that pretty head of yours.”

“What?” Hanzo watched the youth stomp away, spitting into the gutter as he did like he was trying to clear a bad taste from his mouth. Hanzo was flabbergasted. Jesse had said-- Jesse had  _ said  _ he often remembered pieces of his past lives. What was going on?

An older woman was quick to shuffle out of her shop and help Hanzo out of the street, timidly glancing at the other gang members following after Jesse as she did so. 

“I’d be careful of  that one,” she murmured in Hanzo’s ear as she patted him down. “He’s nastier than a bag of rusted nails.”

Hanzo wiped the blood off his chin and blinked away a headache. He’d had broken noses before; it would heal, and faster than a human’s. Staring off after his love, Hanzo swallowed Jesse’s name and turned to the woman shepherding him away from the open market and into her shop

“What made him that way?”

“Some dogs are born wild,” she said vaguely. “Deadlock gets its teeth on everything around here-- sometimes right out of the cradle.”

“He wasn’t wild when I knew him,” Hanzo murmured, still a little dazed. He stared at the dusty walls of the shop, the ragged sheets hung to make barriers in the tiny space. “He was...sweet.”

“When did  _ you  _ ever know Jesse McCree?” the woman said incredulously. “That rascal’s been making trouble around here since he was born, and I  _ know  _ I’ve never seen  _ you  _ in my shop before now.” 

“It was-- a long time ago,” Hanzo hedged. “I, er-- I knew his family. Before they moved here. We were friends.”

“Family, huh.” The woman squinted at him. Hanzo shuffled uncomfortably; he was noticeably older than Jesse and he couldn’t quite pass as human under close observation. The woman could be thinking anything. “Alright. Family it is. Well,  _ friend _ ,” she said heavily, “Maybe don’t go with the tender embraces next time-- he wasn’t kidding about poking you full of new holes. That boy likes his knives.” 

Hanzo made his decision then: he would pursue Jesse and make him understand, stabbing risk or no. Even if it took Jesse’s whole life-- even if it took  _ Hanzo’s  _ whole life. Even if Jesse didn’t know him anymore, Hanzo would make him understand.

He stood up, shook himself off and thanked the woman. He left the market without the new clothes he’d been looking for. 

He had more important goals now.

\--

Hanzo’s day-to-day routine quickly changed after that. He went from aimlessly moving from town to town to setting down roots; it was a haphazard kind of single-mindedness that had him signing a lease and opening a bank account. Where previously he had kept his distance from neighbors, he now purposefully ingratiated himself. He needed to get back into Jesse’s social circle, and the first step was finding out everything he could about Jesse’s new hometown. 

In an earlier time of his life-- a less desperate time-- Hanzo would have been embarrassed by the way he followed Jesse around. Hanzo watched Jesse smoke the same ugly cigarillos he’d always favored. Hanzo watched Jesse drink the same liquor he’d always loved, albeit in a lower quality. Hanzo even numbly watched Jesse pick up men and women with the same kind of sharp charm that had once been aimed at the dragon himself. It was disheartening, to say the least. The only comfort-- if one could call it that-- was that Jesse never looked like he enjoyed any of it.

He would smoke, and then stub out the cigarillos before they were done. He would drink, and then smash the bottle before it was finished. He’d lure someone into a backroom for a quick fuck, and leave them before dawn. Hanzo watched from the shadows, half-ashamed of his petty nosiness, and learned what he could of his love. 

Jesse’s current life had, up until that point, apparently been a rough one. He’d been groomed from youth to use his sharp eyes and quick hands to wield weapons. There had been years of starvation and desperation and Jesse had quickly built up a hardened shell against the outside world.

Hanzo desperately wanted to give Jesse a life in which he could be the same gentle, relaxed character he’d been in his last incarnation. But Hanzo had to ask himself-- would Jesse  _ ever  _ be the same? Upbringing was everything, as Hanzo well knew. The context was new, now. Jesse didn’t know him, and Hanzo had no claim on him. 

Hanzo was near-immortal. There would be other loves, surely. The problem he kept running into was he didn’t  _ want  _ another love. He had been alive for almost one hundred years at this point, and most of them had been spent with Jesse. Hanzo might have been strong, but he wasn’t invincible. If Jesse didn’t want him, perhaps he should just move on and wish his past love the best.

Jesse had a new life-- literally and figuratively-- that did not feature Hanzo. It might not have been as good as his previous one, but if Jesse didn’t know-- if Jesse didn’t  _ remember--  _ did it really count? Did it really  _ matter?  _

Well...of course it did. 


	2. The Next Life (cont.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo completes his scheme, but it doesn't go as planned.

 

Hanzo’s resolve to whisk Jesse away (whether Jesse wanted it or not) only solidified when he followed Jesse, late one night, into an empty bar and watched him drink until his broad shoulders lay bunched on the bartop. This was not the first time Hanzo had watched the young man do this-- though usually he at least had company of some sort. Tonight, Hanzo determined that company would be him. 

“Just water for me,” Hanzo said to the bartender, who eyed him suspiciously. “And water for him, too, if you please. I won’t be here long.”

At this, Jesse stirred. “Don’t need no water,” he slurred. “Got enough in me to piss a river through the desert.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow, Jesse,” Hanzo said firmly. It was hard to look at his love like this, but he forced himself to. There was little of the old man Hanzo had gotten to know; none of the experience, none of the love, none of the gentleness. And yet...seeing Jesse with vitality-- of a sort-- running through him was a thrill. Hanzo couldn't help but admire his strong jaw, though it was sweaty and covered in stubble, or the way Jesse's hair was thick and chestnut brown in a way Hanzo hadn't seen in decades.

“And who’m I thankin’?” Jesse slurred, swaying on his stool as he looked at Hanzo. “Heyy,” he said, a sly grin slipping onto his face. “You’re that guy what’s been followin’ me.” Hanzo startled; had be been so very obvious? “What d’you want, fella?” He leaned in close. “You one ‘a  _ them  _ sorts, you want a--” he burped, “a piece of my ass?”

Hanzo fought revulsion, keeping his words proper so he couldn’t betray himself. 

“Not as such. I just want you to be safe, Jesse.”

“And how’d you get my name, anyhow?” Jesse continued. He took another swig of his beer. 

“That’s--” Hanzo stumbled on his words. He hadn’t quite thought out how to say this. “I knew you, once. In another life.”

“Another life, huh,” Jesse said thoughtfully. He stared at Hanzo with glassy eyes and turned into his drink. “What I’d do for another life.”

“You had them,” Hanzo reassured him gently. “And you'll have more. I only wish you the best in this one.” 

Hanzo finished his water and walked out.

\--

Hanzo had worked on a plan for several days. Every since he’d run into Jesse by chance-- ever since that helpful shop woman had given him the seed of an idea-- Hanzo had started formulating his plan of attack. He needed to be close to Jesse; what better way to do that then walk right into the den of snakes Jesse called home?

Hanzo strode through the city right into the main building the Deadlock gang worked out of, past the lookouts, past the guards. He had the air of a man who couldn’t be stopped-- the crackling energy and flowing blue scales probably didn’t hurt, either. He disintegrated the locks on one door and flung it open, walking into the central room of the building without hesitation.

“I wish to join you.” He spat the words out at the feet of a nasty-looking middle-aged man sitting at a table full of ammo, presumably to count. Hanzo curled his lip; the fool wasn’t even trying to hide any of it. Others sat around the man, and they looked much more concerned with the intrusion than the big man himself did. Hanzo eyed their weapons with a crackling spark, taking pleasure in the fact that the holders immediately dropped them. “My reasons are my own, but know that you would benefit from having me.”

“Yeah?” The man-- far from Hanzo’s expectations-- did not quiver. Instead he sat back in his seat, hands folded over his belly, and stared Hanzo down as if he looked at dragonlings every day.  “What’ve you got to offer?”

Hanzo rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands, sparks flying. He held up his fingers and ticked off his points. “Money, expertise.” He bared his fangs, let a little bit of gold glint in his eye. “A  _ lifetime  _ of expertise. And a large pool of boredom. I wish for something new. Dragons like power. You have it.”

The man stared at him with a distrustful squint. There were long minutes where the only sound was Hanzo’s sparks and his heavy breathing. He tried to rein it in, but it was useless; his emotions and showmanship had gotten the better of him. 

“You’ll be on probation,” the man finally conceded. “You’ll start low, you’ll probably stay low. Look forward to lots of running around for almost no reason.”   
  
“Precisely what I’m looking for,” Hanzo said with a sharp grin. “What should I call you?”

“You don’t call me anything,” the man said with an equally sharp grin. “If you gotta, you call me Boss. You haven’t earned my name yet, you low-life piece of shit. Fancy scales ain’t gonna swing you any favors here, and you better get used to it.”

Hanzo smirked, and stretched, and diffused his electricity into the air. “Excellent.”

\--

Nobody trusted him right away. That took many months of errands and scraping and debasing himself. True to Boss’s words, Hanzo started at the lowest of low, on the same level as the children the gang picked up off the streets. He ran errands, delivered messages, picked up drinks when necessary. They used him to haul home drunks from the bar, to pick on business owners-- including the friendly shop woman who had helped him, who shook her head disapprovingly-- and to move shipments through the gorge just outside town.

In those many months Hanzo found just how far above him Jesse was. True to the shopkeeper’s tale, Jesse had been in the gang nearly since birth and had had quite a bit of time to work his way up the ranks. Hanzo was nothing compared to him, and Jesse made it known with a sneer and a snarl. The few times they interacted Jesse berated him for his odd coloration (“Blue, really? Couldn’t have chosen something  _ less  _ human?”) or his strangely formal pattern of speech. Others followed suit; it seemed Jesse was popular as well as powerful. This fact made Hanzo frown: it would be hard to extract the phoenix from this place if he was well-ingrained. 

Luckily, Hanzo had one thing going for him that set him apart from the others in his similar placement in the hierarchy: he was damn good with his weapon of choice. He thanked his ancestors that he wasn’t important enough to be brought along to any violence, but he had been made to stand with his bow in hand as a threat. He certainly had the arms to make him look intimidating; he hoped that would be enough. Hanzo was not prone to violence, and though the concept didn’t make him squirm, it did set a seed of discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

But his skill had other advantages: it brough Hanzo into Jesse’s sphere of influence, bought the phoenix’s attention. Jesse had a knack for weaponry, whether it be throwing knives or a pistol. He could be found at all hours near the little shooting range Deadlock had cobbled together, and Hanzo had used this to his advantage. The dragon often showed up at the same time, quietly working his way through targets with arrow after arrow in a methodical fashion, as if it was all he was made for. Hanzo found it calming; and he liked that he could be near Jesse, even if they never really talked.

“You’re a pretty a fancy shot,” Jesse drawled one day several months into Hanzo’s partnership with the gang. He plunked himself down at a table in the shade next to the range and started to casually clean his gun. His studiously did not meet Hanzo’s surprised gaze. “Some of the other’s are talking about it, and I confirmed. What, you don’t come out here with other folks?”

Hanzo lowered his bow from where he’d been about to release another arrow and turned, considering his next words. 

“I do better alone,” Hanzo murmured, running his hands along his bow as he stared at Jesse in the noontime sun. 

“Except for me.” Jesse said pointedly. “You got psychic powers with those scales? Feels like you always show up when I do.”

  
“Some...er..some creatures like u-- like myself have certain affinities for such things, but I am not one of them,” Hanzo said, cursing himself for almost slipping up.

“You’re good enough to have ‘em,” Jesse said. He threw the compliment out like it was nothing; Hanzo blushed and turned away, releasing another arrow into the dummy ahead of him.

“I am good with a bow and arrow. Some would call that an outdated skill.”

“If it’s a skill, it’s a skill,” Jesse said, shrugging. “Ain’t as fast as a pistol, but it does the job, am I right?” 

Hanzo nodded. 

“Tell me though, archer-- you fast, or just accurate? I’ve seen your fancy precision work, but you’re always so slow,” Jesse drawled. “You any good at quick stuff, or just this slow methodical shit?”

Hanzo produced his first genuine smile in months. “Both,” he said warmly. It got him an upward twitch of lips from Jesse, and Hanzo inwardly rejoiced. He’d made slow progress, but progress all the same, and Jesse was slowly letting him in. They weren’t quite friends yet, but they were more than acquaintances, at least.

Jesse grinned, sharp and predatory. “Prove it.”

Hanzo shot three arrows in quick succession into the neck of a dummy, each lined up perfectly to sever the threads holding the head on. Jesse did the same with his gun, unloading bullet after bullet to absolutely destroy a shoulder. 

They quickly started setting up challenges for each other, taking breaks to reload, until at last the sun started setting and Hanzo’s arms ached from hours of work. When they looked around, Hanzo had to laugh: they were surrounded by destroyed dummies they hadn’t bothered to remove completely; limbs and stuffing were everywhere.

“We will have quite a time cleaning this up,” Hanzo laughed. “I have not had this much competition in a long time.”

Jesse waved his hand dismissively. “Leave it for the grunts. You’re with me, and I don’t touch this shit.”

Hanzo shrugged. He’d take the opportunity if it was presented. He was getting tired of being a runner for the gang, but he’d yet to come up with a solid opportunity to take Jesse with him if he left. Perhaps his time was coming. 

“Did I prove myself?” Hanzo asked, arching an eyebrow challengingly.”

“Well,” Jesse said, laughing. “You shot up about as well as me!” He winked. “I don’t say that lightly, fella. You aren’t half bad at this.”

Hanzo smiled, sure that this was only the beginning of something new for the two of them.

\--

The problem with being long-lived, Hanzo found out, was that he could occasionally be short-sighted. He hadn’t thought much of the gang’s acceptance that he continue to live independently. Hanzo didn’t need income from the gang’s prospects because he had a veritable hoard of wealth built up over many decades of work. He’d curated it lovingly and tracked it fastidiously because it had supported him and Jesse for the span of Jesse’s life, and he had intended to have a sizable nest egg waiting for when Jesse returned to him.

Now that he had both Jesse and the wealth in hand, however, Hanzo found that it was very hard to bring the two together. Jesse didn’t want his charity, and he hated when Hanzo --intentionally or unintentionally-- flaunted the fact that he had money. Hanzo didn’t try to hide it, but he did learn to not attempt to buy Jesse’s friendship with goods or cash. The only gift Jesse had accepted from him was a rather nice lighter, with which he lit his cigarettes or the occasional cigar.

But still, Hanzo had enough savings to live comfortably; it was perhaps this, combined with Hanzo’s attitude and general  _ outsider-ness _ , that sparked the first curls of dissent among the other members of the gang. Hanzo wasn’t one of them. So why did he join them? What was he getting out of it? Rumors started that Hanzo was looking to buy them out, or to overtake them. To cause a rift in leadership and break them from the inside. People talked behind his back just loud enough that Hanzo could pick up on a gradual shift over months towards brewing trouble.

It didn’t help that Jesse had latched onto him since their little duel, hanging around Hanzo at all hours and even going drinking a few times. He introduced Hanzo to people far above the dragon’s station in the gang, bringing him what seemed like endless good luck-- all engineered, of course. This did nothing to assuage the suspicions of the other gangsters. They all thought Hanzo had done this on purpose, and though he had, Hanzo didn’t like that other people thought he was  _ using  _ Jesse for something so petty as power.

It culminated in a kidnapping. Hanzo was called in to a meeting nearly six months into his partnership with the gang with one of his superiors, a man he had previously thought to be at least somewhat amicable. Of course, once he knocked Hanzo in the head hard enough to daze him and tie him up, the dragon’s meager trust had all but flown out the window.

“It goes like this: you take your little dragon hoard out of the bank and fork it over, and we let you--” Here he sneered. “--go free to start over somewhere else, if a little lighter in the pockets.”

  
“I’ll do it,” Hanzo said without hesitation. “ _ If _ Jesse McCree comes with me. That is my price.”

The man slapped him upside the head. “You don’t get a price, dumbfuck. We’re ransoming you from yourself. You give us the money, or we kill you.” A wicked grin spread over his face. “Or we could kill Jesse. Kid’d die for a good cause, don’t you think? He’s so  _ loyal. _ ” 

Hanzo stiffened, ardently trying not to show his hand. That money was for him and Jesse, but he could rebuild a fortune given long enough. He had skills, and magic, and that was more enough to let him get by. But give up  _ Jesse _ ? Hanzo had just found him! 

Hanzo flexed and crackled, electricity shooting out from under his skin like water pouring over rocks. His scales flowed and flexed, and the dragon stood up abruptly, knocking over the man trying to secure him to a chair. Hanzo wobbled-- he was still dazed from the unexpected hit-- but managed to roar loud enough to shatter the glass in the room and surely some more beyond.

Hanzo fought his way across the room, wobbling step by step to the door with his hands still secured behind his back. He had to find Jesse; he had to get out of there. 

He burst through the front door with only splinters to stop him and barrelled down the road. The shooting range would be only a block away; he could find Jesse and drag him away before they got him. Hanzo wobbled as his vision went blue, and then he was sprinting, arms still bound in metal cuffs that were softening from the heat his body was giving off. 

Hanzo made it to the range, rushing past the fence and bodily bouncing off a startled Jesse.

“We have to go,” Hanzo growled in his otherworldly tone. His eyes sparked, white and empty. His fangs had descended and they made his speech slurred, but Jesse seemed to understand him well enough.

“Alright,” Jesse said sternly. “Lead the way.” He grabbed his hat, cocked his gun, and set off after Hanzo. They were halfway to Hanzo’s safehouse when Hanzo was able to rip off the melting cuffs and grab Jesse’s hand, and from there the two stumbled as quickly as they could. There was no time to gather belongings; Hanzo only wanted to get horses and get to the edge of town as fast as possible. 

As they neared, however, someone burst out of a building and shot at them, narrowly missing Hanzo’s head. A bullet scraped his cheek, sending out large crackles of heat and blue sparks where it shaved the skin off his face. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jesse squawked. “They never fuckin shoot at me, and I’ve done some dumb shit.”

“We are a ransom that will not be paid,” Hanzo growled. He tugged Jesse harder-- this time around a corner and into the bar that was so near to his home.

“For  _ what _ ?” Jesse gawped. 

“My fortune, and your freedom. It’s time to go, Jesse.”

  
“Go?” Jesse tugged his hand out of Hanzo’s hold. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  
“I know what you are,” Hanzo seethed through his fangs. “A phoenix, born of fire, near-immortal and never-ending, living in filth because you see no other path.”

“Hey, now--”

“Do not deny it, Jesse McCree. Now--” Hanzo swore and yanked Jesse into the doorway, slamming it shut behind them. The bartender shouted, but hid as soon as the windows were blown out by gunfire. Hanzo barricaded the door with a table and immediately dragged Jesse behind the bar; the bartender shoved past them and out the back door, which Hanzo immediately blocked as well. It was pure luck that the place was empty mid-day. Or perhaps not so lucky, so much as it was magic.

They bunkered down behind the bartop and awaited their fate. Hanzo knew they’d get out of it. There were only so many bullets in the world, and nothing could truly stop a dragon on a rampage. It was only a matter of waiting. 

“What brought you on this path, Jesse?” Hanzo sighed, blowing a blood-soaked lock of hair out of his face. He still had the remains of the cuffs on his wrists, and they jingled as he grasped Jesse’s hands in his own. Surprisingly, the phoenix let him, eyes going wide as the reality of the situation hit him. 

“This  _ particular  _ path?” Jesse turned and scratched his face on his shoulder, still not tugging his hands out of Hanzo’s. His beard-- always so neat in his previous incarnation-- was a scraggly thing, dirty and patchy with malnutrition. “Well, that’d be some showy so-and-so poking his long nose where it don’t belong. Who the fuck  _ are  _ you, Hanzo? Tell me true.”

“Just…” Hanzo thought of how he could explain it. “Just someone. You must have met many someones, Jesse, in that long book of life you have.”

Jesse stiffened. He tugged his hands out of Hanzo’s grip, reaching for his revolver at his hip. He turned it around and around as if considering something. Jesse squinted at Hanzo suspiciously as he did so, until finally he leaned his chin on his palm and stared openly.

“I like you, you know, weird shit an all. So tell me, Hanzo: what the fuck do you know about me? Why don’t I know anything about you?”

“We’ve met before,” Hanzo spilled out in a rush as gunfire shattered bottles of booze on the shelf above them. He shifted stiffly on the floor, trying to get sight of the people outside. “Many times. We knew each other very well. You must have known it, you must have felt it. Last we met you said you had dreams sometimes-- dreams of other lives, other times. Surely I’ve shown up in at least one?” Hanzo was betting on a sliver of hope-- it was only statistics that let him make the gamble. He’d been with Jesse for so  _ long--  _ he must show up occasionally in those memory-dreams.

“I…” Jesse froze, turning the gun over one more time before dropping it to the ground. He grasped Hanzo’s head in his hands: no gentle caress, but a squeezing force that caused Hanzo to crackle electricity in shock. Jesse didn’t flinch. Instead he leaned into it, his eyes glowing a brownish orange, like embers turning to ash. Hanzo knew then that the memories were flooding it, And he closed his eyes against it.

“I _know_ you,” Jesse said solemnly. He kissed Hanzo softly, firmly, pulled him close, and a million emotions flooded through Hanzo at once. Blue light engulfed the two of them, flame and storm blowing everything around them to pieces. 

They were whole.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow my nsfw blog at hhgggx.tumblr.com to find more of my writing, giveaways, prompts, polls, a cyoa monster lover's story, and a lot more!


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